


I didn't mean to hurt you, baby. (But you're pretty when you cry.)

by PrinceOfHope



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftercare, Character Death, Crying, D/s undertones, Domestic, Emotional Abuse, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Praise, Roadtrips, Showers, more tags added later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceOfHope/pseuds/PrinceOfHope
Summary: A collection of RoyEd drabbles-- updates every Saturday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oya, oya. I'm not sure how many of these I'm going to post, but feedback would be amazing. It really keeps me going.

It feels nice not to think. Edward's voice is lost within the distant expanse of his throat, his fingers curled within the ashen pages of 'The Illiad'. He had never been one for such historicals, but his eyes felt tired and his head felt numb-- it was as if he had no other choice than to pick up the first thing he had gotten his gloved hands on in Mustang's library. His one flesh foot was was covered in a sock two sizes too big, as it gathered around and curled at his ankles; he's covered in a shirt that's his, black and threadbare, though only because he's refused the one that Roy had attempted to get him to wear-- a pair of flannel pants hang low on his hips. He's warm, settled onto a couch that isn't his, though feels like home. 

Distantly, the calming hum of a shower cuts off sharply, drawing the golden haired boy's eyes from the scrawling pages up to the hallway adjacent to the bathroom. It only takes a few moments for the door to open once again, steam flowing out across the floor from Roy's shower. 

He steps out in shorts, the towel he had presumably dried his frame off with hanging loosely across his shoulders. The raven seemed to have noticed Edward, his knowing eyes trained on the pale, scarred body of his general; because a soft smile crosses his lips when he meets the eyes of the boy. 

Edward's fingers slip from the worn pages of his book, settling it atop the wooden coffee table quietly-- Mustang's footfalls quickly carrying him towards the smaller, lithe body of his lover. 

Blonde hair lifts from his resting place on Roy's couch as the Elric lifts himself to reach the man-- just as Mustang bears him. The General reaches a hand, brushing a worn, rough hand to press pads of his fingers against the small man's cheeks and lips. He's so pretty like this, sleepy, his eyes falling shut when the comforting warmth of his lover, his superior's fingertips contacted the boy's cheeks. 

"You stayed up just for me? How cute." Roy's voice is quiet and teasing, his eyes gazing lovingly at the sight of the boy beneath him. His lips, plump and a soft pink, his eyelashes, long and golden, just as his hair. 

"Nah-.. 'Got caught up readin'.." Edward's voice is tired, he's sore even though he hasn't been on the field in months. He's sore from the pressure of Roy's fingertips just two hours before, hushed breaths and quiet sobbing; scratches running down the wide expanse of Mustang's back, glistening tracks of saltwater dripping down the soft skin of Edward's cheeks and neck.

"Of course so." 

Roy's words don't hold any specific meaning, though he leans down to press a silent kiss to Edward's forehead, before he allows the small boy's body to fall against his warm body, pressing the Elric's back gently to urge him closer, and closer still.


	2. Chapter 2

Trees pass quickly outside, Edward's eyes lazily cross the horizon. He's so soft then, his lips are spread softly along with his hair-- the scent of Marlboro's still lingers around the Jeep; ever since Edward finally relented. Roy's been chain smoking since Charlotte, but it's pretty evenly understood that neither of them mind. They've smelt worse. 

(The stink of blood spread evenly across a battlefield.) 

Mustang's hand is gripping at Edward's thigh firmly, though the Elric's attention has been anywhere but the older man's creeping fingertips for the last hour. It's been in the wilderness, chasing elk and sparring with a suit of armor formerly known as his brother. His own bitten down nails dig into the side of his own arm, leaving crescent moons in their wake, just as tears leech and drain any willpower left in his system as they well in his eyes.

"Edward, you're going to get carsick like that." 

"Mm." 

Roy's eyes leave the road for the first time in two hours, darting towards his lover's lips, trailing up his face. Edward looks so vulnerable like this-- wearing Roy's flannel, in Roy's car, his fingertips digging into his own flesh to prevent from shaking. His hand starts to lift from the boy's thigh to wipe at his tears, though Edward's hand grips it tightly whenever it leaves the warm surface his denim-covered leg. The message is clear; Edward isn't weak, he can handle whatever he's thinking. Mustang feels confident as he settles his palm down on the boy again, squeezing playfully. 

Edward had never been a weak one-- he had never sought shelter in the pity of another's soul or warmth or pity. He was stubborn, and a prick; it took Roy half an hour of convincing to pull Edward inside that cold night, years ago by now. When Edward was just nineteen, fresh, though worn from Ishval. He was broken then, all fake smiles and robotic laughter; neat handwriting and 'yes, ma'am', 'no ma'am' slipping between his teeth. 

That night was anything but what he used to be. It was all choked, painful sobs, hands gripping at Roy just to push him away moments later. They didn't sleep until they saw the sun then- Edward gripped tightly in his arms, all signs of the fake boy he used to be washed away by the man he now was. 

A sudden cut to the wheel, and Edward now sat still on the side of the interstate, blinking as he glanced wearily over towards the man; who had drawn back the hand resting on the Golden boy's thigh to shut the car into park. They had been on the road for four days, though this was the first time Roy had stopped so suddenly. 

Finally, when the ignition had been shut down fully, a dark, handsome man turned to face the younger alchemist. 

"Has anyone told you that you look pretty when you cry? Besides me, I mean." 

A genuine chuckle rings out against his ears, before his fingers wipe away the remains of the saltwater on his cheeks. 

"You're such a fuckin' sleaze." Edward defends quietly, grunting a chuckle of his own. 

And then Roy's hand is back on his thigh, closer, closer enough to where his fingertips slip into the boy's pocket to pinch the flesh of his fleshen thigh. Lips press to the skin of his collarbone, and Edward finds himself tilting his head towards the window to allow his superior more room. It's cute, when Roy is feeling so romantic- Edward says so by ruffling his hair and leaning upwards to press a kiss to his lips, biting at his tongue when he pulls away. 

"You're pretty when you're mine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //TW: Major emotional abuse in this chapter.

Roy Mustang loves being a bitch. 

He loves the way that, with a few easy words, he could bring the boy's life tumbling down. Just a few simple words could force tears to spill down into Edward's mouth, choked sobs escaping the small boy's throat. It was cute, really, how quickly Roy could reduce the otherwise strong boy into a quivering mess. 

Of course, the only thing that would pull Edward from these bouts were Roy's own fingertips, tugging at his hair and forcing him to bed.

Anything that happened before then was free game.

 

A plate shatters against the wall loudly, Edward's metal hand scratching at the plaster until it flakes off in chunks. His eyes are watery, tears drip down his cheeks until he can't remember a time before then-- before Roy and his hollow threats of leaving. 

Roy was explosive, with his knowing smirk and his deep, sultry voice. It isn't worth his time to cry, to sob until his voice cracks and his throat aches tightly; until he pulls at his own hair in his struggle. It all hurts, it burns his throat the way that Mustang's expensive whiskey does. He enjoys it-- he wants more, he likes the way Mustang's voice cracks when he yells loudly, the way his fingertips push too hard on his windpipe. 

He wants more.

Mustang's always been a guilty man, he takes, and takes. He bites the hand that feeds him, angers the boy that lets Roy fuck him until they're both delirious with lust. There's no real reason behind it, it's just fun, really. The way he can predict where Edward's tears fall in his fury, or the way that Roy traces the curves of the Elric's throat when he's struggling against his owner's hand. 

He wants more just to take it, he makes rules just to break them. 

"Do you want me to stay? You aren't acting like it, Edward. You're acting like you want me to pack my bags and leave you here-- All alone, just as you started." A grin is plastered onto the Flame Alchemist's face, his hands are settled onto the counter on which he leaning, and Edward; with his pretty boy looks and pretty boy tears are welling in his eyes. They drip, drop slowly down his throat, honey on his lips as they pour saline down his throat. 

That throat. Edward was a demon in disguise. That throat could do many things, soft and flimsy-- it could bring a man closer to his deity as well as push him so far away. It could command the knees of emperors and superiors; pull the spirit from a nation's eyes.

"Stop." Edward's voice is steadier than Roy expected, its cute how he tries to stand tall even in the face of his deity. 

He worships Mustang. The Flame God, God of love and lust and heartache. He sends praise in the midst of the sobs between expensive sheets, shielded by view from his prophet's back. 

"It's cute, Edward. Come here." 

He can't help himself-- he's pressing his body into the curves of Roy's chest before he even registers it; tears are soaked into his cotton shirt and the wetness drawls a laugh from Roy's silken, devilish tongue. He could bring a country to it's knees like this. 

His palms splayed against Edward's back, possessively grasping at the Elric's bottom. This was his, the small boy clinging oh-so-tightly to him was /his/. 

The world was his, and he knew it.


	4. Chapter 4

Edward didn't know what time it was when he woke; sheets tangled around his waist and thighs-- the cold ache of his Automatik ports being overworked and strained. He must've fallen asleep with his prosthetics on again, as he used to quite often when he was younger. Now, the notion of the dull, throbbing pain that would work it's way into his joints usually prevented him from being so careless--

Or, usually, it would. 

Now, he had obviously had a reason to leave them on. 

The reason laid beside of him, soft snores echoing through a tight throat. Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, the Furher, of all people. He was the reason his joints stung so bad it brought bile into his throat-- a muscular arm draped across the State Alchemist's waist, pulling the Blonde closer even in his sleep. 

Fuck, what had he done? He'd slept with his superior, his advisor, the military head of the entire country-- Jesus Christ, what had gotten into him? 

"What did you do, old man?" Edward's voice came out grittier than he intended it to, even as Roy's hand gripped tighter at his waist. After a few moments of silence and even breathing, Edward concluded that the asshole was just barely awake, probably able to fall back asleep at the blink of an eye. 

When the Elric began to move, throwing his feet over the side of the bed and scanning the floor for his forgotten clothes, a rousing intake of breath fell from the other man's lips. Blue-black eyes fluttered open to glance back up at Edward's own. 

"You don't have to leave. At least let me fix you breakfast." Mustang's sleep-ridden voice was enough to make any woman fall to her knees, and although Edward wasn't 'any woman', a pit of longing still swelled in the bottom of his stomach. 

What if he did stay? Just this once, of course.. He could just settle back into bed, let himself be pulled into the secure grasp of his superior until they decided to wake. He could wear one of Roy's shirts, sit in the kitchen with one of his seemingly endless collections of books while the elder made breakfast for the two of them. It all sounded so.. domestic. 

Domesticity had never been a comfort in Ed's life. It had always been kill or be killed-- alchemy in the form of blood circles, reincarnated pulling and fighting their way to his world; only to try and rip him to shreds. His life had been pulling his hair into a braid so that he didn't have to comb it, wiping tears from his heels while Alphonse was out on food runs, stealing yen from old men at the train station. 

But now; since Alphonse had his body, and Edward lacked the only things he had ever known, he felt comfort in the fact that he could finally have it. He could kiss Roy without the guilt of knowing that he might not make it in the end, that he would perish is a flash and Roy would be left confused and in an office in Central, forever awaiting the arrival of a dead cadet. 

(Okay, he knew that Roy would be able to move on. He had women and men alike throwing themselves at his feet every waking moment of the day. There was no doubt that Edward was replaceable, but whether or not Mustang would have wanted to replace him was an entirely different story.) 

"Al's waiting for me." 

"You and I both know that he isn't." 

Roy's voice shouldn't have stung him like it did, even in it's honey-coated, red-velvet, 'yessir', don't-worry-babydoll, tone. Mustang had a way with sweet talk, whether it be whispering in the ear of his used-to-be superiors, or biting at the back of Edward's neck while he's over; making the blonde grunt and squirm and push him away so he can finish whatever he's reading. 

Instead, though, it makes Ed's eyes water. He wanted Alphonse to be there again, not with Winry thirteen hours away. He wants Al's steely hands waiting for him, to embrace him and press him underneath the sheets even when Edward's too tired to admit it. Alphonse had always been there-- a gray force in the back of Edward's mind, fuzzy and out of focus until Al's voice would ring distant in that suit of armor. 

But now, Al was gone. A cold sweep of the room, a window left open. He wasn't gone forever, guaranteed, he would still visit the oldest Elric, bringing along Winry to make sure that he wasn't beating himself with his Automail, though their invitations of living with them sounded too dreary. 

He wanted this.

Roy's hand slithered around his waist once more, though this time Edward allowed it. He let the older man pull him back into the bed, press the younger man's face into his chest. Edward dragged the sheets up with them, wiping at dewy eyes before Roy could notice the saltwater on his chest.

"That's it. Stay a little longer." 

Roy's voice cooed above him, sickly sweet and dripping with a tone that Edward couldn't put his finger on. 

It didn't matter, though. Soon, Edward was drifting off, surrounded by the scent of ash, whiskey, and aftershave. 

A damned life was his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More RoyAl with previous RoyEd.
> 
> (Roy had just a touch of Prosoganosia in this-- as Alphonse's face blurs into Ed's.)

The flag felt heavy in Roy's hands. His finger twitches along the sturdy fabric, gripping the large sheet tightly in shaking hands. He, Edward's general, had been tasked with handing it to his next of kin, anyways. What else was he supposed to do--? Drop it? 

Mustang had never put much thought into what Edward's parents would have looked like. Sure, he had imagined a woman with blonde hair and brown eyes, and muscular man who wore his pride on his sleeve in fleeting daydreams in the barracks, though nothing as far as to ask the soldier about them. Edward seemed rather secretive about his past, anyways. The general thought it better not to push his luck around the alchemist. 

But now, as the Full Metal Alchemist lay motionless few feet infront of him, Roy's eyes burning with something that definitely wasn't the pollen that most likely floated silently through the air; the absence of a tall couple made him furrow his brows. His parents were alive, weren't they? There was a gap in their records when he had checked them-- signaling that they had either went missing sometime ago, or were still kicking. But as the evening carried on, Roy's resolve slipping away at every attendant passed him without a word, dread curled within his stomach. 

Edward Elric, the boy with the golden eyes and the metal heart, was an orphan. 

Oh god, what was he supposed to do? Sure, Mustang knew that Edward had a brother, and one that he held rather dearly, but it made his heart ache. The thought of handing the slip of colored fabric to a boy that had nothing left. Roy could offer him lodging for the night, though it was most likely that the boy didn't need it. Mustang had noticed the simplistic, though carefully crafted make of Edward's clothing-- the monthly envelope that would arrive for the boy in the mail. Roy had no doubt that they were well off, especially now, with Ed's earnings for the military, and the penitence that Alphonse would withdraw. 

Hours passed, hours full of building dread and guilt. The numbers dwindled, until there stood a sole boy- seated on the steps next to the alter, which held a sleek black coffin, and Mustang's heart. 

Long, golden bands hung infront of the male's face, his frame lithe and nimble, though unsturdy as his shoulders wracked with silent sobs. This had to have been Edward's brother--even though his clothes hung on a frame that was too thin to be normal, Roy would have had to be a blind man to ignore the similarities between the two boys. 

His footfalls carried the general closer and closer towards the small thing, before he stood infront of the boy, crouching down silently to meet him at eye level. 

He was met with a fire that he hadn't been expecting. The kid, no younger than eighteen, had tear tracks dripping down his too-familiar cheeks, though something burned deep into those eyes. Darker than his lovers, but the same golden flecks swam in the liquid copper iris that had been set perfectly. Depression, despair, longing-- everything that Roy had thought would be painting the boy's face was replaced with anger and sorrow. The poor thing.

"Alphonse Elric?" 

Roy's voice caught in his throat, hitched on the molten dread that threatened to spill. Alphonse resembled his brother in such a way, it made Roy's chest ache with longing. He wanted to reach out, brush the loose hair away from the pretty boy's face, press his lips against the man's eyelids as he had down before, with the boy's own bloodline.

\--

"Mm.. Wanna' tell me how you need it?"

Roy's voice is liquid sin. How could he do this? There he was, his past lover's brother pinned up against the military-grade sheets that covered the general's bed. Thin, milky thighs had twisted their way around the man's waist, Alphonse's hips gyrating desperately, even though Roy's hands press them deeper into the bed-- doing his best to still boy's desperate throws and attempts at getting what he wanted too quickly. 

it was surreal. Whenever Roy glanced into molten copper iris, gripped soft flesh, relished in the sound of a breathless moan, Alphonse would undergo a sort of transformation. His hair would lighten, braid itself, and underneath him would lay his lover. 

Edward, in the flesh, his cheeks blushed and his lips bitten as they had been so many nights before-- hushed and cornered in the depths of the silent barracks. 

It was only a matter of time before Roy would stumble. 

He was rocking into the small boy, his teeth worrying at the soft flesh of Alphonse's neck. The smaller's fingers gripping helplessly at the back of the general's neck; his voice cracking and breaking every time the teary eyed boy would speak. 

"Fuck.. God, Edward, you were always meant for this.." 

Roy's neck feels wet when he pulls away, and Alphonse's fingers wipe hastily at his cheeks.


End file.
